


The Haunting of Will House

by NeuroWriter14



Series: NW14 Does Halloween [15]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Do not repost, M/M, Magic, Rituals, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: Will moves into a new house where it turns out owner after owner has died before.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: NW14 Does Halloween [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946689
Comments: 8
Kudos: 110
Collections: Enabled and Approved at the Wholesome Place





	The Haunting of Will House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MakotoJinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakotoJinx/gifts).



> For [my darling Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakotoJinx)

"My house is haunted," Will declared at his lunch with Beverly.

Will had stopped working for the FBI two years prior when he could no longer tell the difference between his minds and the minds of others. He had left it all behind after that. He quit teaching, he quit consulting, and he stepped away completely. Ultimately, he was worried that one of the murders committed while he was consulting was actually his doing. The line between fact and fiction, mind, and reality, blurred for him. So he left. He sold his house, gave away most of his dogs except Winston, and found somewhere else to live. He had enough money that he could stay afloat as he chose. He decided to back to repairing boats as a result. He wasn't far enough away from Quantico — on the coast now — that he could see Beverly when he wanted.

Beverly was his only remaining friend from his FBI days. Sometimes, he would come across Jack — who he would still consider a friend — but their relationship had grown a bit strained. The only person he ever really visited was Beverly. Mostly at her insistence.

He had mostly said what he did for her anyway.

"Haunted!" Her dark eyes lit up, watching his face closely. "You believe in ghosts, Will?"

"Well, it's not Winston who's moving the furniture two inches to the left." It was always just enough to be inconvenient. He would slam his toe into it, making him hop rather dramatically and cuss in English and Cajun French. Either that or he was sleepwalking. 

He preferred the ghost idea. 

"Is that it?" Beverly asked, excitement in her voice.

"Lights flickering, the drier turned on in the middle of the night." There was more. More than he ever wanted to say. He already sounded insane enough as it was. He didn't need Beverly thinking he had gone completely off the deep end. But in truth, there were other things. Voices, noises, hands touching his face ever so gently. 

About a month after he moved in, everything started. It was small things at first. The cabinet left open as though someone had been rummaging through it. The furniture moved ever so slightly. Nothing was ever malignant in nature, just enough that he would notice. Even the touches felt almost loving. After the first month, he had decided to look into the house and found more information that he knew upon moving in. Person after person had died in the house. Whole families died with no real reason in some cases. One couple who died appeared to be a murder-suicide. He knew about them. They were last ones in the house before Will.

He could handle a murder-suicide. He wasn't expecting all the dead bodies that came before it. 

It should have bothered him more than it did. 

"Maybe you should do an exorcism on your home," Beverly teased. 

"Oh yeah, let's piss off a ghost more by trying to kick it out of the house." Will rolled his eyes. Maybe, if he hadn't grown up in and around New Orleans, he'd be less hesitant. As it was, he remembered what it was like growing up there.

His father did the best he could, but often Will was left alone from a young age to entertain himself. And New Orleans was filled with magic. 

"Oh! Maybe try a seance." Beverly's eyes sparkled. "Maybe you can talk to your ghost decorator and get them to stop."

Will laughed at the suggestion, but he wasn't laughing internally. That wasn't a bad idea. Some ghosts just needed to vent frustrations before they moved on. Perhaps Will could help this one. 

He and Beverly made plans to meet another time, a few weeks later. All the while, Will thought about the many ways he could contact his ghostly interior decorator. It should be easy enough, given everything he remembered from his childhood. He also knew that it was unlikely he would contact his ghost without them wanting to contact him first. And it appeared they wanted to do just that. 

By the time he arrived home, he was certain he was insane. He had nearly talked himself out of the whole endeavor, until he noticed all his cabinets open once again. The ones close to the floor could easily be Winston. But there was no way his dog could reach the one over the refrigerator or the small, high one over the stove. And Will knew he didn't leave them open himself. It took one look around his house for him to finally make up his mind. 

He waited until night time, when the sun finally dipped below the horizon before he did anything. Maybe he thought he would be less foolish in the dark. Will turned off all the lights in his house, made certain Winston was settled, and then lowered himself to the floor. He set up a candle in front of him and sighed. After several long moments of staring, he pulled the lighter he had in his pocket out, and lit it. 

The air in the room changed immediately as though something had been waiting for the right time. The floorboards creaked somewhere behind him and he felt something cool brush past him. Then the floor in front of him creaked once again. Will blinked, not expecting it to be as easy as it was. Only he knew that someone, or something, was sitting in front of him now. After a moment, he realized he should have thought this through. He summoned them, but there was no way to hear what they were saying in return. 

"Hello, Will."

Or so he thought anyway.

The voice rumbled through the room as though there were another person sitting in front of him. He could tell, already, that it was a man with an accented voice. Part of him shoved away the man part, thinking about his ghostly voyeur.

"Hello," He said quietly. 

"Are you all right, Will?" The other asked.

He opened his mouth to answer only to shut it again. Was he all right? He was talking to a ghost who knew his name. 

"I must be insane," He muttered. 

"Insanity is often defined as doing the same thing and expecting different results." He could almost see a head cock to the side in the darkness. "This is the first time you've tried this." 

"You could just be a figment of my imagination."

"I could be," The other confirmed. "Is there something that I could do to persuade you that this is reality?"

"What's your name?" 

"Hannibal." 

Will scrubbed his hands down his face. Hannibal was definitely not a name he would have come up with in his own imagination. 

"You're one of the people who died here." He vaguely remembered a Hannibal in and amongst his research. A doctor who vanished under mysterious circumstances. 

"Yes."

"Are there others? Or just you?" 

"I've been alone for some time now." 

Will sighed. "Where are the others?" 

"They've moved on."

He caught a glimpse of amber eyes in the flickering candle light. 

"Why haven't you?"

He could almost feel the other coming closer. "Perhaps I've found a reason to stay."

For the next few weeks, he found himself talking to the ghost of his house. Mostly, because it was nice to have someone to talk to. And partially because even though most people judged him, the ghost never seemed to. It was irritating that the only person who might never judge him might also not be real. He would still find cabinets open, which he would learn was his ghostly guest's way of making certain he would eat. Will found himself lighting the candle in his room, talking to the other as he readied himself for bed. One night, he left the candle to burn the whole time, falling asleep to the feeling of someone caressing his face. 

"I've never seen your face." Will said as he was working on his dinner for the night. He had gone fishing earlier that day and came back with enough for a few meals. Apparently his ghost had been through his cabinets, as he gave Will a list of ingredients to make his meal better. 

"Would you like to?" 

"Yes," Will answered immediately. 

"There are ways." Hannibal said.

"Do you suddenly know everything when you die?" He asked, somewhat annoyed at how many answers the other had.

"I've learned a few things here and there."

Will kept his snippier thoughts to himself and instead added the next ingredient Hannibal told him to when he first started. His memory was excellent, it was part of the reason he was as good at his job as he was. 

"So, how would I see you?" He kept his hands busy. 

"Do you know what day it is, Will?" 

"October 29th," He answered automatically. "Oh." His thoughts clicked into place a moment later. Halloween now was more of a commercial holiday. But when the holiday originated, it was said that the veil between life and death was its thinnest on Halloween. Was this what his constant guest was referring to? "It's almost Halloween."

"Yes." Hannibal confirmed. 

His heart was not skipping a few beats in his chest at the prospect of finally seeing the other with his own two eyes. After several minutes he sighed. 

"What would I have to do?" 

"Nothing too extraordinary." 

Will huffed in response. "Well?"

"I'll explain when it comes time." He could almost feel an appraising gaze on him. "In case you change your mind." 

The 30th went by incredibly slowly. He spent the day without calling on Hannibal once, thinking more and more about whether or not he was insane. He never told anyone about his contact with the other side. He never told anyone that he was talking to the ghost of a doctor who once died in his house. As he lied in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, he had the feeling he was being watched. But the other made no attempt to make contact that day. He had succeeded in earning Will's attention. Now it was Will's turn to decide where he sat. 

He should probably have asked more of the ghost in his house; how he died, why he stayed there, why he wanted to talk to Will. But instead, he found himself wondering if he should even see the ghost at all.

He fell asleep thinking about amber eyes.

When Will woke the next morning, he made up his mind. He spent the day still not contacting the other until the sun began to drop in the sky.

"What do I need?" He asked, lighting the candle. He had bought too many candles to talk to his personal ghost.

"I wasn't certain you'd agree." He waited, feeling himself being studied. "There's only one ingredient." He raised an eyebrow. After a second, his hand began to move of its own volition, rising slightly and turning so it was palm up. "Your blood." The other almost caressed his palm before he felt the strange, tingling pressure he had felt seconds before vanish. "Pour it over the candle. Wait until after dark." 

"I guess we'll find out if I'm insane." He muttered, mostly to himself.

"Are you often subject to hallucinations, Will?"

He didn't answer that.

* * *

Hannibal wasn't exactly being honest with what he told Will. In truth, he had thought about moving on but had abandoned the idea completely when Will appeared. He had first seen the man with his realtor as they looked over the house. The realtor didn't hear the snide comment Will had made, but Hannibal had. Will could see so deeply into a person, it was almost as though he were looking into their soul. And he wanted that. He wanted him. 

It had taken nearly two months for Will to finally contact him. He had been trying in every possible way to earn that man's attention and eventually he succeeded. The more he talked to Will, the more interactions they had, the more he found himself wanting him. It wasn't so much his curiosity about the man anymore. His obsession had changed somewhere along the way. No, he didn't just want to be known, to be seen. He wanted to see him. He wanted him for something more. Initially, he had planned to use Will, to take him and return to the world of the living without a care what happened to the man. 

Someone who could so easily see the soul of another would be easy to take over. But Hannibal now found that the appeal of the living world dramatically decreased if Will wasn't a part of it. After several days, debating with himself, he decided for a compromise.

He didn't want Will dead, and he wanted to live. The only way to ensure both was to tie his life to Will's. He would live for however long Will did, and would die — again — when he did as well. He had ultimately decided on this after one night, watching Will thrash in his sleep. It was odd to him that he longed to reach out and touch him, to calm him and pull him against himself. He wanted to be the one Will turned to.

He had been alone for so long, both in living and death, that it caused him so bit of dissonance to no longer wish to be alone. And for him to no longer wish someone else to be alone. 

When Halloween finally came, and Will agreed, he was certain his no longer beating heart had started beating once again. 

The other sat in front of him, as they had been when they first talked. Normally, Will would bring the candle from room to room with him, and Hannibal followed, trailing him like a puppy. He grasped the other's hand, watching goosebumps rise on his flesh as always when he touched him. He almost wished he could have been the one to slice the other's palm open, to ease the burden of Will having to do it himself. 

Will would be beautiful in pain, but only pain at Hannibal's hand. 

It started slow, as Will's blood fell over the candle. He kept his hold on the other's hand, feeling heavier and heavier by the moment. Will didn't need to do much. It was Hannibal who did the majority of the ritual. He was the one who chanted, who pulled himself over. He was the one who held Will's bleeding hand over the flame until he too felt like he was on fire.

And then the candle went out. 

There was a thud. Will was unconscious not that far from him. He reached for him, concern first rising in his chest, and then elation when he actually _felt_ the other's skin. He shifted forward, feeling the other's pulse thudding in his neck.

"Thank you, dear Will." He muttered against the other's hair. "I'll still be here when you wake in the morning."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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